little red votive candle on the table.
Singleton had felt something blossoming within him, as he looked across the table at the woman. After all this time, a woman really cared for him? Somebody who would hang out with him, and cook and make babies? How did that happen?
He’d reached across the table, and had taken her hand; tears rolled down his face, and she said something like, “It’s okay.”
Later, feeling a little unmanly about the whole thing, about the tears, he’d started to apologize for himself andshe’d laughed and squeezed him and said, “Loren, you did just perfect. Just perfect.”
Somehow, he thought, he had.
S INGLETON HAD WORKED until seven that morning and had come home to find Katina in his bed. He’d crawled in with her, though he hadn’t been too tired. Now, at ten o’clock, he was sleepy; he closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep.
Deon and Jane, he thought. Hanged.
Fear tickled through his chest. He tried to shut it out, flopped this way and that, wrestling with his pillow. Maybe somebody was coming for him, he thought.
A hangman.
Katina didn’t know anything about that.
R UTH AND K ATINA Lewis stepped inside the body shop’s overheated office, took off their mittens, and Ruth pulled the door shut behind her. Gene Calb was working behind his desk. He was a balding, heavyset man in his mid-forties, with a weathered face and thick, scarred mechanic’s hands. A pair of reading glasses perched on his thick nose. He looked over the glasses and said, “Guys. You musta heard.”
“A little while ago, in town,” Ruth said. “Jane and Deon, but people said they were hanged?” Ruth stuffed her mittens in her coat pocket, and unzipped the parka. Ruth Lewis felt like her sister, but didn’t look like her. She was a slender woman, where Katina was round, and she had flinty green eyes behind steel-colored, wire-rimmed glasses, while Katina’s eyes were softer, paler. Ruth’s hair was close-cropped, an ascetic’s ’do; Katina wore her hairfull. Ruth’s cheeks were rosy from the cold, like her sister’s, but unlike Katina, she wore no lipstick or jewelry—a pretty woman determined to do nothing with her looks.
Ruth was the older sister and the boss, Katina the subordinate.
Calb said, “Hung in a grove off the ditch road. That Letty kid found them this morning.” He looked at the clock. It was just 11:45. It seemed like the morning had stretched on forever, since he’d heard the news at ten.
“So what are we doing?” Katina asked. She always reminded Calb of a clucking hen, a busy, mildly overweight woman, but with a sensuous underlip. She was supposedly a member of some Catholic religious group, but apparently one that didn’t have anything against sex: Katina had been sleeping with Loren Singleton, and Singleton was looking as happy as he ever did, if a little peaked. “Do we do anything? ”
“I’m closing down,” Calb said. “For the time being. Until we find out what’s going on.”
“That’s not acceptable,” Ruth said.
“I . . . ” A car went by on the highway, and Ruth and Katina and Calb all turned their heads that way—you always looked at a car on the highway in Broderick. A Highway Patrol car with extra passengers.
“Ray Zahn,” Ruth said.
“Loren told me that a couple of big shots flew in from St. Paul, and Zahn’s driving them around,” Katina said.
Calb shook his head. “I’ll tell you what, guys; they’re gonna hook Deon up with me, and I don’t know what I’m going to tell them.”
“Tell them as much of the truth as you can,” Ruth suggested. “That you hired Deon to drive for you, on the recommendation of an old army buddy in Kansas City, that you rehab trucks from all over the Midwest, and that he picks them up.”
“That’s not exactly . . . ”
“He does that,” Ruth interrupted. “You could give references.”
“Yeah. He’s done that,” Calb said. “What about you guys?”
“We can’t stop,”
Singleton had felt something blossoming within him, as he looked across the table at the woman. After all this time, a woman really cared for him? Somebody who would hang out with him, and cook and make babies? How did that happen?
He’d reached across the table, and had taken her hand; tears rolled down his face, and she said something like, “It’s okay.”
Later, feeling a little unmanly about the whole thing, about the tears, he’d started to apologize for himself andshe’d laughed and squeezed him and said, “Loren, you did just perfect. Just perfect.”
Somehow, he thought, he had.
S INGLETON HAD WORKED until seven that morning and had come home to find Katina in his bed. He’d crawled in with her, though he hadn’t been too tired. Now, at ten o’clock, he was sleepy; he closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep.
Deon and Jane, he thought. Hanged.
Fear tickled through his chest. He tried to shut it out, flopped this way and that, wrestling with his pillow. Maybe somebody was coming for him, he thought.
A hangman.
Katina didn’t know anything about that.
R UTH AND K ATINA Lewis stepped inside the body shop’s overheated office, took off their mittens, and Ruth pulled the door shut behind her. Gene Calb was working behind his desk. He was a balding, heavyset man in his mid-forties, with a weathered face and thick, scarred mechanic’s hands. A pair of reading glasses perched on his thick nose. He looked over the glasses and said, “Guys. You musta heard.”
“A little while ago, in town,” Ruth said. “Jane and Deon, but people said they were hanged?” Ruth stuffed her mittens in her coat pocket, and unzipped the parka. Ruth Lewis felt like her sister, but didn’t look like her. She was a slender woman, where Katina was round, and she had flinty green eyes behind steel-colored, wire-rimmed glasses, while Katina’s eyes were softer, paler. Ruth’s hair was close-cropped, an ascetic’s ’do; Katina wore her hairfull. Ruth’s cheeks were rosy from the cold, like her sister’s, but unlike Katina, she wore no lipstick or jewelry—a pretty woman determined to do nothing with her looks.
Ruth was the older sister and the boss, Katina the subordinate.
Calb said, “Hung in a grove off the ditch road. That Letty kid found them this morning.” He looked at the clock. It was just 11:45. It seemed like the morning had stretched on forever, since he’d heard the news at ten.
“So what are we doing?” Katina asked. She always reminded Calb of a clucking hen, a busy, mildly overweight woman, but with a sensuous underlip. She was supposedly a member of some Catholic religious group, but apparently one that didn’t have anything against sex: Katina had been sleeping with Loren Singleton, and Singleton was looking as happy as he ever did, if a little peaked. “Do we do anything? ”
“I’m closing down,” Calb said. “For the time being. Until we find out what’s going on.”
“That’s not acceptable,” Ruth said.
“I . . . ” A car went by on the highway, and Ruth and Katina and Calb all turned their heads that way—you always looked at a car on the highway in Broderick. A Highway Patrol car with extra passengers.
“Ray Zahn,” Ruth said.
“Loren told me that a couple of big shots flew in from St. Paul, and Zahn’s driving them around,” Katina said.
Calb shook his head. “I’ll tell you what, guys; they’re gonna hook Deon up with me, and I don’t know what I’m going to tell them.”
“Tell them as much of the truth as you can,” Ruth suggested. “That you hired Deon to drive for you, on the recommendation of an old army buddy in Kansas City, that you rehab trucks from all over the Midwest, and that he picks them up.”
“That’s not exactly . . . ”
“He does that,” Ruth interrupted. “You could give references.”
“Yeah. He’s done that,” Calb said. “What about you guys?”
“We can’t stop,”
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